


Welcome Back

by jenetic



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AOU, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Coda, DO NOT READ unless you've seen the movie, Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 02:01:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3878146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenetic/pseuds/jenetic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tinny voice broke the void, so suddenly that it startled him out if his reverie. The dreams fell away into nothingness and he could think, at last. The voice got louder -- kind and with an accent from... Where? He'd heard it before, he couldn't remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome Back

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a fix-fic for what happened in the new Avengers movie, Age of Ultron. If you haven't seen it yet, get your butt to a movie theater as soon as possible. If you have seen it, please enjoy this tiny pathetic attempt of mine to put my heart back together.

   Red patches began to grow on his suit. They made it cling to his body awkwardly, as if he were sweating. How he wished he was sweating.

   "You didn't see that coming?"

   The sarcastic comment came with a smirk and felt right, in a moment like this. His last breaths wouldn't be wasted on a scream for help. That's not how heroes went down.

_No. No!_

   Screams reverberated in his head, bouncing off the walls of his skull and assaulting his brain with white noise. It took a moment to realize that he was in pain. His body was overtaken with agony as he hit the ground, and he couldn't breathe. That's usually what a bullet to the lung, and several other places, will do to you, he presumed. Now the dirt was turning red, too, and he vaguely felt someone touching him. Clint, maybe. His vision and consciousness left him before he could figure it out.

   There was no white light.

   They always say to go into the light, right? Was he lost? The blackness was unsettling, more so than he'd like to admit.

   Drifting.

   He was not weightless, did not feel freed. Knots formed in his stomach at the realization -- maybe he was in Purgatory. A monster, he didn't think he was a monster, but he must be. He was doomed to a dark existence. Forever floating in --

_No!_

   The same voice. It resonated in the blank space and he reached toward what he thought was the source. Did he know the source? In life, maybe. He couldn't remember who it was, now. He couldn't remember much of anything.

   "Is anyone there? Please, I am lost!"

   A small comfort came as soon as his sight returned to him. Small because, well, what he saw was not much better than being blinded. It was Hell, he was sure. Buildings on fire, mechanical men marching down the streets, dead bodies shoved into ditches by the tens. He cautiously walked forward, scanning the area in case he was still vulnerable. Vulnerable may be an understatement, in the end. No longer could he run, sprint away from danger, but now he was forced to walk. To keep a slow pace because his body was too lethargic for anything else.

   One shoe caught on something and he realized a moment later, with horror, that it was a human arm. A few feet away was a corpse, fresh blood spilt underneath it. The man looked pained. He couldn't tell if his arm had been ripped off before or after death, but either way, the stranger's expression showed everything he felt. Adorned in a black vest, pants, and boots, with a quiver of arrows beneath him. He faintly recognized this man, and that made it so much worse.

_No!_

   There it was, again. What he once thought was Hell was gone now, replaced with a bright white room. This was just as blinding, and he felt the need to cover his face, to shield himself from what could be in this realm of death. So far, he was not a fan. The four walls were unbearably blank, with no furniture adorning the space. It was impersonal, even more so than the lab he'd spent most of his life in. 

   "Hello? Help me, I beg of you!"

   Lab. He remembered the lab. Something, at last.

_You'll never make it past this experiment, boy. But that just makes it more interesting._

   Blood curdling shrieks pierced his ears as the walls turned a deep red. Everything was getting dark again. The shouts wouldn't stop, couldn't stop, this person was in too much agony. A moment too late, he realized that it was his own voice. His eyes could only see black, once more. The noise was cut off abruptly. He drifted again, aimlessly, sightless, and couldn't even remember what was happening anymore. A moment ago, he'd been... Where had he been? He only recalled hitting the ground.

   A tinny voice broke the void, so suddenly that it startled him out if his reverie. The dreams fell away into nothingness and he could think, at last. The voice got louder -- kind and with an accent from... Where? He'd heard it before, he was sure.

   "Welcome back, Pietro."

   Pietro. The name registered in his mind as his own, slowly, like honey dripping. Pietro.

   "Wanda?" he asked softly, reaching upwards from where he lay. His fingertips connected with hard steel.

   "Your sister is safe. I am JARVIS. I ask you to remain calm while you return back to full health." This stranger still sounded... Wrong. Like he was speaking through some sort of device, something that produced a metallic echo. Pietro allowed himself to relax and stayed grounded with the feel of the metal above him, below his back, cradling him.

_Cradle._

   "I know where I am." he whispered. There was no response from JARVIS this time, but that was okay. Pietro blinked rapidly, blurred light entering his pupils at an achingly slow speed. The Avengers. They've saved him.

   Hours passed, or maybe it was days. He could not tell. But it didn't matter as soon as the cradle opened, because he could breathe, he was alive, and five sets of eyes were staring at him. Each looked on with slight worry, like it didn't work, and he had a miniature panic attack before one of them spoke.

   "Hey, kid." It was the man from his Hell dream. The archer. However, instead of pain, there was unadulterated joy on his face. A wide smile that said -- Clint. This was Hawkeye, he knew.

   "Hello. I am... Surprised to see you again."

   "Well, we've got the tech. What, you didn't see that coming?" Clint mocked with good spirit, but suddenly turned as if he'd heard something. Apparently, he had, because the other four had left his side a moment later. It was because someone new was coming, someone that must have been anxious to see him, someone --

   "Brother, I've missed you."

   "You have no idea, sister."


End file.
